CHAPTER XII

A MYSTERIOUS TEN DOLLAR BILL

On the afternoon of the day following the disappearance of the two packers, the ravine narrowed down to a mere gully, and the three boys, leading the pack-horses, scrambled up the precipitous slope to find themselves looking out across a broad and fertile meadow.

Off in the northwest, a low-lying haze or ribbon of mist indicated the presence of a body of water.

“It’s probably Thunder River,” Dick surmised. “According to the map, there’s no other stream of any importance we have to cross. That means, Sandy, that we must be very close to the end of our journey.”

Sandy raised one hand and clapped Dick on the back as he spoke.

“I’m glad for all of us. But I must say, Dick, that this trip hasn’t been so unendurable after all. On the whole, I’ve rather enjoyed it.”

“With the exception of the arrow and the disappearance of those cowardly packers, I’ve enjoyed it too,” said Dick.

“Queer about that arrow,” mused Sandy, as they started off again. “You know, Dick, I’ve been thinking a good deal about that ever since it happened. It’s so terribly mysterious. I wonder who shot it?”

He paused for a moment as he hurried forward to keep abreast of his much swifter companion.

“Do you suppose,” he resumed, “that the person who shot the arrow intended to kill one of us, or merely wanted to give us a good fright?”

“I hold to the former view,” Dick answered a little grimly. “I don’t think there’s the least doubt on that score. The arrow missed my head by less than a foot, and nearly caught Lee in his right leg.”

“A good shot all right,” Sandy mumbled, half to himself. “Whoever fired it, was a marksman. He knew his business. It was an Indian, of course.”

“Yes, it must have been.”

Sandy raised his voice so that the guide, who was leading the pack-ponies, could hear.

“Toma, how does it happen that some of the Indians around here still use a bow and arrow. I thought that all of them went to the trading posts now to buy rifles. How do you account for it?”

“Not all buy rifles,” Toma enlightened him. “Once in a while far away from trading post like this, you find wild people, mebbe not more than once or twice see white men. These Indians very much afraid white man’s guns. No come very close to settlements or trade at post. These people not many—only few tribes left.”

“Yes,” said Dick, “I remember hearing something like that before. Possibly, it was from Corporal Richardson.”

“Well, I know this much,” Sandy broke in, “I’d much rather have them to contend with than the outlaws under Henderson.”

“Mebbe have both very soon,” predicted Toma.

“Great Guns! I hope not!” Sandy’s alarm was genuine. “I’ve had enough of Henderson to last me all the rest of my days. I’m really beginning to believe, though, that we’ve seen the last of him. At any rate, I don’t think he’s going to bother us any more about the mine.”

“It has commenced to look that way,” Dick agreed. “But I think we can account for it. Corporal Richardson and Malemute Slade are keeping them so busy, they haven’t time to come up here to worry us.”

“Still,” Sandy reflected, “I don’t believe Henderson will give up so easily. They know about the mine and will do everything possible to gain control of it. The outlaws will be in a dangerous mood now after losing the fur.”

Toma did not, as a general thing, enter into the discussions Dick and Sandy so often indulged in. But he was an attentive listener at all times, very rarely failing to understand what was being said. In the present instance so interested had he become, that he quite forgot his usual taciturnity.

“What you think, Dick,” he suddenly broke forth, “if I tell you Henderson’s men him close to us all the time since we left post? You believe me crazy fool, eh?”

Dick was so startled by the question that he stopped dead in his tracks and stared curiously at the young Indian.

“Why—why,” he stammered, “I don’t know. I don’t know what to think. But you’re spoofing me, Toma. It isn’t reasonable, of course.”

“I think,” Toma was in deadly earnest, “that Henderson send men to follow us when we left post. Right now, Henderson’s men in hiding close by. You see if Toma not speak you the truth.”

Sandy laughed in derision.

“That’s a good one! If Henderson is within fifty miles of us right now, I’ll undertake to eat our two pack-horses for supper.”

Toma flushed with embarrassment, but still held stubbornly to his belief. Sandy’s laughter and Dick’s sceptical smile had not influenced him in the least.

“You see if Toma not speak the truth,” he said doggedly.

“What I want to know,” Sandy taunted him, “is if a change in the weather wouldn’t make you feel better. Perhaps a little rain would freshen your mind, Toma. This everlasting sunlight is getting the better of you.”

“If the outlaws have really been following us,” inquired Dick, scowling darkly at Sandy, “why haven’t we heard from them before? Why haven’t we been attacked? If what you say is true, Toma, Henderson has decided to be a good man instead of the rascal we have always known.”

“Henderson him bad, but very smart fellow,” said the guide. “He shoot you, me, Sandy, in one minute if he like. But he no like because if he shoot us he mebbe lose mine.”

“You mean——”

“Much more easy, much better for him to follow along ’till we find mine ourselves. Then he take it away from us. More sense do thing like that than kill you, me, Sandy, when not know for sure if we have map.”

Sandy’s smile suddenly faded away.

“By George, you’re right! Toma, I’ll take back everything I just said—with some interest added.”

“Then, according to your belief,” said Dick, “we have nothing to fear until we have located the mine?”

“No. Only men with arrows bother us now. Me pretty sure Henderson keep out of sight. He no want us suspect anything when he get ready take mine.”

“How long have you had this suspicion in your mind,” quizzed Dick, “and why didn’t you tell us before?”

“I think same as you an’ Sandy until last night,” came the startling revelation. “Them fellow, Lee an’ Pierre, go off like that make me worry. First I think all same you an’ Sandy. I say to me: ‘Toma, them fellow run away because this bad medicine land an’ because they ’fraid get killed Indian arrows.’

“But more I think like that the more not sure I get all the time. Lee an’ Pierre have ’em more sense mebbe. Not so crazy fool after all. Both them packers I know for long, long time. Lee pretty good fellow, but Pierre get drunk, gamble—not so good like Lee.”

“What in Sam Hill are you driving at?” interrupted Sandy impatiently. “I fail to see what they have to do with it. We were talking about Henderson—not about the packers.”

“You understand pretty quick,” said Toma, reaching in his pocket and bringing forth a crisp ten-dollar bill. “I find that in the grass next morning Lee an’ Pierre run away.”

“One of them lost it,” reasoned Sandy, “but I fail to see——”

“I find the money an’ pick it up,” Toma went on, ignoring Sandy’s remark. “Then I forget all about it, because I get me so excited they steal supplies an’ run away. But bye-’n’-bye, I start think about that money. I remember Pierre he say to me one day: ‘Toma,’ he say, ‘me, Lee like play poker some night but no got money.’ He ask me lend him money so him an’ Lee play poker.”

“He must have lied to you,” said Dick.

Toma shook his head.

“Me no think so. He no lie that time. Pierre an’ Lee get money from somewhere else.”

Dick jumped.

“From Henderson!” he exclaimed.

The Indian nodded in the affirmative.

“Me pretty sure Henderson man come during night, wake up Lee an’ Pierre an’ give money so they run away. In the dark, they drop money in grass an’ no find this one.”

Sandy turned mournful, accusing eyes upon Toma. Dejectedly, he kicked the turf at his feet.

“That’s always the way,” he lamented. “The minute I begin to feel happy and contented, something like this comes along to upset me. I believe Toma now. This business about the money has so thoroughly convinced me, Dick, that I wouldn’t be surprised if Henderson himself should step out of that clump of bushes over yonder and tell us to throw up our hands.”

“We’ll keep guard every night now,” Dick decided. “Whatever happens, we’ll be ready for them.”

“Perhaps we ought to camp here and wait for Uncle Walter,” Sandy suggested. “I don’t mind confessing to both of you that I’m scared stiff. Between the Indians and their arrows and Henderson and his guns, I predict that we’re going to have a hot time of it.”

“I think we be all right ’till we get to mine,” said Toma. “No use stop here.”

“What do you propose, Dick?”

“I don’t know what to say,” Dick confessed. “Three or four weeks is a long time to wait for reinforcements. Even then we’ll probably be outnumbered. It’s rather difficult to decide. Perhaps you’d like to give up altogether, Sandy, and return to the post.”

Sandy’s face flamed a bright crimson.

“Are you trying to insult me—or what!” he demanded hotly.

“Of course not. I mean it. It’s no crime to run away if the job is too big for us. I’m not doubting your courage.”

“I’ll die and rot in my tracks before I go back to the post. If that’s what you’re figuring on doing, go ahead.”

For a full minute the two boys stood, face to face, breathing heavily. There was a gleam of defiance in Sandy’s eyes, while Dick’s face had become overshadowed with anger. Toma dropped the end of the lead-rope carefully on the ground and placed one foot on it. Then he straightened up, putting a hand on the shoulder of each one of the young belligerents.

“No fight here,” he grinned. “Dick, Sandy, you come with me. Toma show you nice place where fight all time, day an’ night. Mebbe you like that better.”

Dick and Sandy glared at each other for a moment, then grinned sheepishly. The matter was settled. They would go on to the mine.